


The Spaghetti Incident

by solemnwar



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, domestic bliss (?!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solemnwar/pseuds/solemnwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Samuels is Hereby Banned from the Kitchen (Until Such Time Amanda Desires Real Food)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spaghetti Incident

            Amanda dropped her bag of tools just inside the doorway, kicking it to the side as the door shut behind her. She let out a heavy sigh, exhausted from a long day of hard, manual labour; always something breaking down and needing urgent care. She barely had time to spare to eat her lunch, but she did anyways, because Samuels would be quite put out if she came back— _again_ _—_ with a full lunch bucket. Never mind that she was _absolutely_ fine with just coffee and a dried ration here or there, and told him such, but with calm logic he effectively told her to eat her damn lunch. In the politest way possible, of course.

            She kicked off her heavy boots, rubbing a sore shoulder as she padded further into the tiny living quarters that were hers— and Samuels, even if his name was not on the lease as he was, strictly speaking, technically _property_ , a technicality that left a sour taste in her mouth. But what could she do about that? Samuels, in any case, didn’t appear to be put out in the slightest, but who could tell with synthetics?

            Speaking of, where was he? He usually came out to greet her when she got home. “Samuels?” She called out.

            “Ah, welcome back, Amanda,” came softly spoken words. “I hope you your day was uneventful... and please stay out of the kitchen.”

            _What?_ She stopped briefly, blinking in confusion as her brow furrowed in concern. This was very much unlike Samuels. “ _Samuels?”_ she repeated, resuming her tread, making a slight adjustment to go to the kitchen instead of her room.

            “I’ve got everything quite under control... _now_...” was his response, which was even more worrisome. “Please, it would be better if you remained–”

            Too late for Samuels, as she walked through the doorway and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her, mouth falling in open in shock and horror.

            Her— _their_ — kitchen was _destroyed_. Well, that was a little unfair. It was _mostly_ salvageable, but an absolute _mess_ , and in the centre of it all Samuels stood, his head cocked to the side slightly as he mournfully considered the ceiling, and what was on it.

            And him.

            And everything else in the kitchen.

            Her mouth worked, but nothing emerged from her lips as she gawped at the red, chunky _something_ that coated her— _their_ , and one day she would be used to thinking that— kitchen, dripping from the ceiling and oozing down walls, baked into the surface where it had landed on the hot surface of the stove, and pooled at the ruins of the old pressure cooker she thought she’d thrown out ages ago, but apparently not.

_“What_.” She finally got out, feeling the muscle under her eye twitch just a little.

            “I assure you, this result was unintentional,” Samuels said, casting an almost baleful look in her direction. “I followed the directions to the letter, even making adjustments to the calculations based on the—”

            “Samuels,” she cut him off. “What. The _fuck._ Did you do to my— _our_ — kitchen?!”

            He gave her a disapproving look. “As I was explaining, despite my intentions, it seems this device was no longer suited for any use and... exploded.”

            “Exploded,” she repeated.

            “Ah, yes.”

            “ _Exploded_ ,” she said again, her voice going several octaves higher.

            Samuels winced. “Amanda—”

            She took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds, slowly let it out, and repeated this process until the red haze descending on her vision went away. She didn’t have the _greatest_ temperament at the best of times, but she _had_ been improving, but coming home to _this_ after a shitty day at work was seriously testing the limits of her shaky patience.

            “Samuels,” she said calmly, although anger silently crackled under the words. “What were you even trying to accomplish before you destroyed the kitchen?”

            “As part of my ongoing mission to improve your, frankly, _terrible_ diet, I have been looking into a wider variety of meals to prepare,” he replied. “So I was trying for spaghetti.”

            She swiped a bit of red on a close-by counter top and licked it. Her features settled into the stony passivity of someone trying to think of a tactful way to tell someone bad news. _This is awful. The spices are all wrong and there’s enough salt to keep an entire ranch of cattle happy._ Her mouth worked against her accord, twitching upward slightly as laughter threatened to bubble up. _It’s nice to know he isn’t perfect_.

            “Samuels,” she said after a moment. “I think I’m revoking your kitchen privileges.”

            “Amanda, surely that isn’t—”

            “I _might_ reinstate them if you do a good job with cleanup,” she continued, opening a lower cupboard to fish out the cleaning supplies that Samuels so helpfully stocked up (she wouldn’t have really bothered). She glanced at him, taking in the red muck that clung to his clothes and to his skin and hair. “And then of course we’re going to have to get you cleaned up...”

            She paused, taking in Samuels’ expression. He looked almost... _pained_ , and more than a little embarrassed. She felt the remaining anger drain away. _He really was like a puppy, sometimes._ Doing her best to avoid stepping in the red almost-sauce, she moved to him and said into his ear. “And if you’re _really_ good, you can get me cleaned up, too.”

            He sputtered, shocked for once into speechlessness (and how rare was _that_ to elicit in a synthetic?) and she laughed, shoving a cloth at him to get started and rolled up her own sleeves.

            Maybe some good could come out of disasters after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt bad for the "A Beautiful Lie" fic so have something... uh... idk what this is. Funny? Terrible? You decide!
> 
> I am finding myself far too fond of doing bad things to poor Samuels. It's also fairly rare to see Samuels being the one fucking up, usually it's our dear Amanda, so voila, Samuels exploding the kitchen.


End file.
